The rooster’s early cries woke the tall youth, urging him to get dressed, albeit staying shirtless as he intended to head over to the healer’s house. As he tried to sneak out of his home, a low yet sturdy voice called out to him.

“Isn’t it a bit too early for you to get up? The gateway will only be opened when the sun rises.” Björn reminded his son.

“I’m heading over to granny Eira.”

“Are you visiting her or...”

“She told me to go there early to get the threads out of my wounds.” Einar cut into his father’s teasing as he pointed at his chest.

“Go on then. Don’t keep the old crone waiting.”

The young man nodded and headed out. It was still relatively dark in the village, even the sea only reflected some of the cloud-covered moon far away. As the youth neared the healer’s hut, he noticed that the old woman was sitting on a bench on the porch.

“I see that you’re doing fine.” She stated as she waved him closer.

“Good morning, granny Eira.” Einar greeted the healer properly.

It was always a good idea to stay in the good graces of the person who knew how to heal you when you got hurt. The elderly woman stood up from the bench, heading inside with the tall youth following her. Einar was ordered to sit on the same stool he did the day before while Eira brought over a set of delicate shears. She wedged its tip beneath the knot of the horse thread, cutting each loop methodically. The healer put her left hand on the scabbed wound, pulling out the severed threads with her right.

“It always amazes me how fast our bodies can heal if we use the right remedy,” she noted as she smeared some greasy medicine on the nearly healed claw marks. “You should be completely healed in a few more hours.”

“Thank you, granny Eira.”

“Alright lad, get going. The sun is about to rise and you have places to be.”

Einar nodded upon hearing the reminder and left the old healer’s cottage as silently as possible, despite his large size. Looking towards the sea at the edge of the village, the first rays of the sun began to draw their crimson light across the seemingly boundless waters. The tall youth hurried over to the shrine of the gods, a small crowd already gathering near the entrance.

“Took you long enough,” a familiar voice made Einar stop, his father walking out of the crowd. “You should at least wear this while in there.”

Björn handed over a roughly tailored wolf fur vest to his son, a fine piece made of a proud kill from a few months ago.

“Listen,” the man’s voice turned serious as he waved his son closer. “Once you get to the other side of the gate, you’ll only have ten minutes to gather whatever you need. You’re a God-marked now, so this event will define your fate more than it does for others. The right of two sacks gives you a chance to bring back more, but you mustn’t waste your time on baubles and the like. Use one sack to gather metal for a sword and the other to collect armour pieces. Do you understand?”

“Yes, father.” Einar nodded as he put on his vest, tying it firmly.

The two headed towards the clearing where the keeper of the shrine and the other new adults awaited them. Gunnar stood beside the priestess, their conversation ending abruptly as Einar arrived.

“Good,” Helga smiled at him. “Since all of you are here; let us begin!”

The priestess turned towards the carved stone slabs behind Gunnar, her prayer sounding like a baleful hymn. Her helpers handed canvas sacks to the youths present, each receiving one, except for Einar. He was given two small mill sacks, as was his right due to his victory on the previous day. Soon the priestess’ prayer reached its height and a swirling mist formed a gateway between the pair of large carved stones.

“The gateway has been opened, hurry!” She said in a weary tone.

The young men and women rushed into the portal with sacks in hand, vanishing one by one. A swirling nausea grabbed hold of Einar as he too got swept away by the mist, landing in a half kneeling position while he tried to stop himself from vomiting out last night’s dinner. As the world stopped spinning around him, the sight of a dimly lit ancient battlefield opened up to him.

He couldn’t see the end of it, no matter which direction he turned towards, but the most terrifying sight only showed itself once he looked up. Water covered the sky a good thirty yards above the battlefield, sealing it into a large, flat bubble of sorts. ‘Now’s not the time.’ He shuddered, snapping out of his stupor. The ground was littered with rotten and wet age-old skeletons, all of them bearing a distinct look due to belonging to different clans and cultures.

Einar remembered the blacksmith’s words from his village about the properties of good steel as he began to grab the shattered weapons with the least amount of rust spots on them. Pieces of axes, swords and such began to fill up the first sack while he kept an eye on the armour scraps of the old remains. Torn leather and metal plates from different lands made their way into the sack, filling it to the brim just before a strange tugging sensation took hold of him.

The mist returned once again, wrapping itself around Einar as something yanked him back with an irresistible force. A moment later he got spat out of the rift between the carved stone slabs, the sight of the slowly falling sun greeting him.

“I’m glad to see you return safely,” Helga’s voice resounded from behind him as she spoke to them. “The ritual of gathering is now over. Take your earnings and bring it to Sten. He shall use it to forge your first weapons. The God-marked shall stay behind.”

As the priestess finished her speech, most of the young men and women left the shrine, their hands firmly grasping the sacks they filled with scavenged scrap. Only four youths remained there. Einar stood there with the twins and a frail young man he knew as the apprentice of a local merchant. Their parents stood at the entrance of the shrine, waiting to be allowed entry. The priestess looked at each of the youths, turning around a moment later.

“Follow me.” She said in a calm tone as she walked over to a small bonfire that had four beast hides lying around it.

“Sit down,” she pointed at the hides. “You will be given a cup of brew, which you shall drink in one gulp. After that, quickly lay down and the Ritual of Paths will begin.”

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Everyone did as told, the priestess’ helpers handing them a small clay cup filled with a fuming liquid. Einar sent it down in one go before laying back on the soft fur. He wanted to ask Helga how long the ritual would take, but as soon as he laid down, everything went dark around him. As the swirling darkness of his mind cleared, he found himself in a misty forest.

An unexplainable curiosity pushed him to head out through the forest that somehow reminded him of the time he was first taken along by Björn on one of his hunts. Then, the mist around him churned as the darkness snaked closer. When it retreated, Einar felt a slight fall, grabbing hold of what turned out to be a cliff. Looking down, only fog awaited him, upwards however he saw something glinting on the top of the rocks. He began climbing, spurred on by his need to know the source of the light.

The mist once again took him by surprise, wrapping around him before he fell into cold water. As the fog disappeared, he saw a small island ahead, realising that he was swimming in the sea. His surreal swim towards the island was interrupted by the mist once again. This time however he wasn’t alone when it became clear. A frost giant stood in front of him, cold air wafting by with its every breath.

It looked at the youth, swinging a humongous club at him. Einar dodged to the left, noticing that he too had a cudgel of his own. He rushed toward the giant, slamming the cudgel into its shin. The giant didn’t let out any pained grunts, but a hearty laughter as it bent down to reach for him. Instead of a crushing blow, it patted the youth’s head with a proud smile before the mist whisked him away.

As the giant disappeared, the swirling fog revealed a new foe to meet. Einar’s blood chilled in his veins when he found himself staring into the eyes of a large blood-red-scaled dragon. It looked every bit as terrifying as his father’s tales made him imagine it. Strong legs trice his height with claws as big as his arm. A sturdy and scaled body the size of Gunnar’s prized raiding ship. Wings twice as big as said ship’s sails and a neck twice taller and thicker than Björn. The creature’s head was bigger than the bear he defeated with a pair of arm-long horns on top of it.

It looked at the young man with a mixture of disdain and ferocity, letting out a deafening roar towards the youth. Einar felt his ears bleed and his mind ring as he screamed back at the dragon, fuelled by rage and a strange wish to challenge it to a fight that would make even his father’s tall tales sound like humble bedtime stories. The dragon stopped roaring as it stared at Einar with a newfound apprehension and indignation.

It took a deep bellowing breath before a thick column of fire burst forward from its maw. The fire struck the youth in the chest, but it didn’t burn him the slightest. Every last speck of the flames seeped into his chest just before the familiar mist returned, wrapping around Einar. A moment later he woke up with a start, jumping up from the fur he was lying on.

“Welcome back amongst the living,” The priestess greeted the confused youth as he finally snapped back into reality. “We were starting to get worried about you, but it seems to have been unnecessary.”

“Wha...”

“Einar!” A familiar voice called out to him as a soft body crashed into him, giving him a hug.

Looking down, the youth saw his mother hugging him with tears flowing from her eyes.

“You had us quite worried, boy.” His father walked closer, seemingly smaller than before.

“What happened?” Einar stuttered as he stood there, still not understanding their strange behaviour.

“The other three God-marked woke up a good hour ago, but you kept on travelling in the Spirit Realm.”

“What happened to you in there?” His mother asked, straining her neck to look up at him.

“I don’t know,” the young man admitted. “There was this strange fog everywhere and it took me to places that felt both familiar and foreign at the same time.”

“Where were you taken?” Helga asked as she circled the tall youth, eyeing him up with a discerning gaze.

“At first I found myself in a forest that looked a lot like the one we go to hunt on the northern part of the island. After that, I climbed up on a cliffside and then swam towards an island.”

“And you never got to reach whatever you were looking for.” The priestess stated as she reached out to undo the youth’s west, taking a look at the glowing tattoo on his chest.

“A seeker” she let out a strangely heavy sigh. “I never thought our village would birth one of your kind.”

“A seeker,” Björn mumbled. “I’ve never heard of that calling before.”

“That’s because they are as rare as a white raven,” Helga’s smile grew wide as she embraced Einar in a hug. “You truly are a blessed child.”

“Helga,” Astrid looked at the priestess with a newfound apprehension. “What fate was given to him by the Gods? I mean his... he changed so much.”

“A seeker is a true adventurer,” the woman began her explanation. “They are hunters forever prowling to hunt greater and greater prey. They are the explorers who sail the oceans, their eyes searching for new things to discover. A seeker is meant to search for challenges of all kinds, growing ever stronger on their journey. That Einar was given the calling of a seeker proves that he’s meant to grow far beyond our island.”

“Leave it to a priestess to be vague when you need a clear answer.” Björn grumbled.

“I’m well learned,” Helga snapped at the man. “Not all-seeing. I only know what was taught to me. And besides; your son’s tale is yet to be finished. Go on boy.”

Einar felt awkward as everyone turned towards him. He didn’t know how to explain the events that happened without being seen as a madman.

“The fog took me away to a strange place where I met a giant. At first, it almost crushed me, but after I fought back, it just laughed and patted my head.”

“That’s not all you have seen, is it?” The priestess asked with a knowing smile.

“There was another beast in the mist,” Einar shuddered at the memory. “There was a red-scaled dragon in there. It roared at me and I roared back at it. Then it spewed fire at me, but the flames didn’t hurt me. After the fire, everything disappeared and I woke up.”

“A dragon and a giant,” Helga mumbled. “That would explain the changes that happened to you.”

“Changes?” Einar asked as he looked at his parents, their eyes telling nothing good. “What changes?”

“For one,” the priestess cleared her throat. “You’re larger than before.”

“You’re at least a head or more taller, to be honest.” Björn sighed, looking up at his son who was now even taller than he was.

“Your eyes and your hair also changed somewhat. And there’s also the matter of your new tattoos.”

“His new what?” Astrid turned towards the priestess with her voice thinned into a squeak.

“Bring over the mirror!” Helga ordered and her helpers brought over a shield-sized polished iron sheet.

“Take off your vest.” The priestess spoke and Einar did as asked, spurred on by his curiosity towards the changes of his body.

When the metal mirror arrived, the young seeker was caught off-guard by the unexpected sight. A mountain of a youth stared back at him from the mirror that had the same face as his, but nothing else. His eyes were now deep crystal blue instead of iron grey as if he was staring at a pair of faintly glowing sapphires. His pupils were slightly elongated like a cat’s or a lizard’s while his hair was a deep fiery red. Literally.

It looked as if small embers were smouldering between his red locks of hair. The last obvious change was the strange tattoo that now adorned his upper body. Faint red scales started to appear on his neck, growing down to the shoulder blades of his back. It was as if someone draped him in a scaled short cloak.